things i'll never say ~ l.l.p.

sixteen - bitch

There is something profoundly isolating about being the daughter of a famous war hero. People want to meet you, because your dad is famous, and they want to be friends with you, because your dad is famous. By the time I was fifteen, I understood this very well, and as a consequence I tended not to make friends with the sort of people who eagerly introduced themselves to me. Honestly, I was usually rude to them, especially to the boys, who were usually seeking a future recommendation to the Auror's office from my father.

Maybe that was what had attracted me to Julia in the first place - she had never so much as deigned to glance in my direction of her own accord. It was hard to be a social climber when you were already at the top of the mountain, as she certainly was, being so closely related to the Minister. She wasn't well-liked, despite her standing, and my choice to hang around her made people less interested in me.

Jules wore her skirts short and her sweaters tight. She borrowed perfume from Priscilla Nott. The boys drooled over her legs, but never approached her unless she encouraged them, which she did only when she felt like it. She ordered seedy romance novels by post and smuggled bottles of her mother's wine in after every holiday. She was careless and thrived on the adrenaline of breaking rules, sometimes in clear view of the school authorities.

I, who had always been the well-behaved Potter child, found her unabashed disobedience alluring. Since partway through fourth year, I had made a tradition of sneaking out to join her at least once a week down by the Black Lake late at night. At first, I must admit we spent much of our time either reading passages of her naughty books aloud to each other or talking of our own daydreams. Boy-related daydreams, that is. The sort you would find in the aforementioned novels.

Then, of course, there was the alcohol, which Julia started bringing almost weekly after that night in November. Sometimes firewhiskey, sometimes her mother's wine. I was careful at first, to drink only enough to give myself a decent buzz, but as the weeks passed, I'm afraid I lost caution. The last night before the Christmas holidays began, she brought two whole bottles of firewhiskey, and I'm afraid we went a little overboard.

I squinted at the castle as we stumbled towards it, both of us laughing a bit too loudly. Everything was blurry around the edges, and the thoughts in my head were all muddled together. "We're drunk," I said out loud, as if it were the most satisfying thing in the world.

"You fucking bet we are," Julia giggled.

"Why are we drunk?"

"'Cause it's fun, you silly bitch." Jules paused, then slurred, "Bitch. I like that word. Do you like that word? It's fun to say..."

I tilted my head. "Bitch," I said, trying it out, although I had said it a thousand times before. "Bitch."

"You're a bitchy bitch," said Julia.

"You're a bitchier bitch," I shot back.

"You're the bitchiest bitch."

"You're the bitchiest bitchy bitch."

We both broke down in another fit of giggles. We were nearing the entrance to the secret passage that we always used to get in and out of the castle. Jules looked at me and put a finger to her lips. "Shhhhh," she said, rather loudly. "We've gotta go in."

Winking at her, I grabbed my wand from the waistband of my fleece-lined leggings and pointed it at a seemingly nondescript crack in the castle wall. What was that spell again? Apartum... no, Murperta?... no, ugh... oh, it was... "Aperta murum," I pronounced, slurring the words slightly. A light flashed in the crack, and then it spread, creating the outline of a human-sized arch. I tapped my wand in the center of the space, and the solid stone slid upward, revealing a narrow passageway. I nudged Jules. "Light," I demanded.